Synchrony
by Lady Lorax
Summary: Sparrington AU. Someone has to chase, and someone has to run.


Little thing for Raphe1, who inspired it. This bunny bit so hard it drew blood.

Disclaimer: I ripped off more'n a couple quotes for this thing. What's not mine is not mine. What's mine, is. And that's about it.

* * *

Their eyes met across a crowded room. Jade green locked with black for a long moment as the crowd streamed back and forth between them.

_Damn_. Jack clutched the handle of his worn leather briefcase as he spun and plunged again into the human mass blocking his path across the vast marble floor of the auction house's main lobby. _Just can't seem to loose this bloke_.

Pretty eyes, though, he had to note, because Jack Sparrow made a career of noting beautiful things. Pretty eyes in a pretty face. It wasn't like him to run from a pretty face, but right now it was the discreet Head of Security badge clipped to the collar below that pretty face that he was worried about.

He angled himself smoothly between a portly woman in a sequined gown and a small man in a turban, dodged a gaggle of private school children on a field trip, and tried to hide for a moment behind a knot of Japanese business men, which didn't work no matter how low he scrunched himself down. And still the tall figure in its dark wool coat was dogging his heels. _Damn, damn, triple damn. And_ merde_, no less._

Finally, desperate, Jack ducked into a nearby hallway, and cast about, looking for an emergency door, a stairwell, a broom closet, anything. All he had to work with was a water fountain and a unisex loo.

Fine. Wonderful. The loo it was, then.

* * *

James Norrington scanned the crowd before him and frowned. His quarry seemed to have disappeared.

_"Still see him, sir?"_ The quiet voice buzzed from the small microphone tucked in his ear. James scowled for a moment, jostled by the crowd, and considered his options. _Not again, my strange little friend. I'll not be got rid of that easily._

_"Sir?"_

"I'll be right with you, Groves."

He could not have reached the front doors. Not yet. The only place left for him to hide was...

_"Yessir, it's just that the auction starts in ten mi—"_

James reached inside his coat and switched off the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry, Groves, we seem to have run into some interference."

Smiling a small smile, James headed out across the lobby.

* * *

_This is stupid.....this is as many synonyms for stupid as I can possibly conceive..._

Jack wobbled a bit where he stood perched on the toilet seat in the very last stall, farthest from the door. He didn't have to stoop too far to keep his head out of sight, but his back was starting to feel the strain anyway.

This was by far the most idiotic escape he'd ever attempted. It was supposed to be full-proof. He had no idea how that tall bastard had caught onto him, what had tipped him off, but he'd latched onto Jack's scent like a terrier on a rat. Though he had to admit, if his stellar career had to end, he supposed that he could do worse than being brought in by Mr. Talk Dark and Handcuffs. The man was rather sexy, in a penal code sort of way...

_Christ, man, get a grip on yourself!_

Jack grinned wildly. Ah, well, the chase always did get him horny.

...And so here he was, hiding in a toilet with 900,000 dollars worth of stolen goods...and oh god, he bloody well had to pee...

"Five more minutes. Just wait five more minutes, mate, and you're scott free..."

One minute and thirty seconds later, he heard the sigh of the door opening over the panicky pounding of his heart.

Ah, yes, this was the life.

* * *

James let the door swing shut behind him and studied the long row of black granite stalls reflecting his silhouette under florescent light. The room was cold and silent and smelled of citrus disinfectant. He wrinkled his nose.

Silent, but not empty.

He pushed open the first stall door. Empty.

The second. Empty as well.

The third, just as empty.

Hmm.

Skipping doors number four, five and six, he went straight for the end, gave the last door a push, and stood considering the sight that met his eyes.

Standing on the toilet seat, clutching an old leather briefcase, was a slight man wearing rumpled slacks, an old brown coat, wire rimmed glasses, and a slightly hysterical grin (thankfully free of gold teeth). His hair was disheveled, twisted here and there into dark cords, as though he'd tried to rid himself of a head full of dreadlocks but didn't quite succeed. He had the same harmlessly bookish look about him as the mob of hippies protesting the sale of fur outside in the parking lot, except for the mad glint in his eye.

James cocked his head. And the nose piercing. That was new, actually. He decided he rather liked it. He also liked the neatly trimmed goatee, minus the daft little braids. And it was all the rest the same. Same eyes...same cheekbones...same (small moment of blankness...Oh...) same mouth....same hands...

James realized he was staring and cut the mental inventory short.

The man said, "Hullo."

James nodded. "Hello." He extended a hand as politely as he knew how. "Can I give you a hand?"

"You know, that could very possibly be the first time anyone's ever said that to me in the loo before." Before James could bark out a proper order, he took the proffered hand, and hopped down.

"Thank you muchly," he said.

James smiled. "You're very welcome." And Jack abruptly found himself pinned face first against the stall door with his arm twisted up his back.

* * *

"ARRGH!! Bloody Hell!!"

There was a long body pressing in close against him, and a very low, very amused voice puffing hot breath across his ear, "What are you stealing this time, Jack?"

"THIS time! I don't know what you're tal—arrgh!! Leggo!!"

The man pressed harder, shoving him hard against the stone. "If I let go, and you try to run, you will be very sorry."

"I'm already very sorry! Just let off, man!"

Abruptly, Jack felt himself released, and he flopped around to prop up against the wall, rubbing at his arm with a sour expression. "Wanker."

The man...Jack finally craned his neck enough to catch a glimpse of the small name printed on the badge..._James_...already had his damn briefcase open, and was lifting from it a small object, wrapped in silk. Jack winced. Oh, well, help yourself, mate. Really.

"Ah. Lot number103. Governor Swann's—"

"Black Pearl. Yes indeed. You didn't think I was here to swipe the regency teacups, did you?" Any further snotty remarks he might have had at the ready trailed off as James lifted Lot 103 from its wrappings and let it hang by its thick silver chain, gleaming under the cheap and inadequate florescent lights. They were both transfixed for a beat. Gems the size of golf balls tend to have that effect on people, Jack mused.

After a moment of silence, James said, "How did you managed to get your hands on this with the amount of security we had on it?" There was an edge of wonder to his voice that Jack decided he rather approved of. Been awhile since he'd had a properly impressed audience.

"That would be telling," he smirked. "Let's just say, I know one or two things you don't, lad."

James cocked an eyebrow at the lad'. "Do you?"

"I do indeed. More'n a few, I'd say. " Jack backed up a bit, then a bit more, as James stepped in closer, herding him right back up against the stall door. That made him just a bit nervous (HE was the one who did the suggestive-invasion-of-personal-space, thank you VERY much) but he'd be damned if he'd show it. "Mind letting me in on what you find so funny, mate?"

"Hm." James glanced back down at the gem in his hand, trying to clamp down on a grin and failing. "It's just that I believe I know one thing that you don't know, Mr. Sparrow."

_Bloody hell he knows my blasted name..._ "And that is?"

"It's a fake."

If there was anything that could wipe a smug smirk off the face of Jack Sparrow, it was a smirk equal to his own.

James studied the bauble that hung from his hand, swaying like a pendulum, nearly glowing in its perfect blackness. "It would fetch a pretty price on the black market. But not nearly as much as the original." Dismissively, he dropped the necklace back into its swathe and stuffed the whole bundle into his coat pocket. "And you went through all this trouble for a decoy? That's a shame." _The man really had a most insufferable smile, damn him...._ "I think you must be the worst thief I've ever heard of."

He was indeed a wanker. An arrogant one at that....and still sexy. Blast !!!!! Jack gritted his teeth. He was standing in a bathroom, cornered by the authorities, having a bloody chat and ogling said Authority's er...attributes. This was so completely insane.

"An that's what I'm wondering about. How do you know _Jack_, eh? Not even the feds know that name." The sharp eyes narrowed. "How long have you been following me?"

The answer wasn't what he was expecting. He wasn't expecting the smirk to suddenly waver, or that sudden softness around the eyes. "I'm afraid you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Jack swallowed and risked a glance, over James's shoulder at the exit. This was not going as planned. Plan one involved a hasty and ingenious escape from a bathroom. Plan two involved a hasty and ingenious escape from a holding cell. Neither of them involved romantic interludes with Head Security Officers. And the door was only a sprint away...

A voice in his head, the one that had gotten him out of fix after jam after squeeze time and again, was screaming, _Kick him, you idiot! Knee him in the balls and run! Do something! He doesn't have a gun!! You'd have felt it when he...er._ But he couldn't do a thing. And the man was looking at him again. Not just looking— LOOKING at him. Jack swore he could feel the top layer of skin coming off under the weight of those green, green eyes. And possibly several layers of clothing as well.

Oh, bugger.

Plans could always change.

And Jack knew when to hedge his bets.

"So." He grinned his best grin—the special one, reserved for the prettiest of faces—and held out his wrists. "Let me guess...clap'im in irons, right?"

...what would it be? Handcuffs or no handcuffs? And if handcuffs it indeed was, Jack had the strangest inkling that it would be worth it...

* * *

James opened his mouth to say...what?

Did it really matter?

A sudden muffled burst of laughter beyond the door broke the spell. The door swung open to frame the portly owner of the sequined gown.

_"I'll be right back, Meredith, I just have to..."_ She froze, did an abrupt about-face, and marched straight back out the way she came. "Oh. I am sorry...I'll just be...on...my way..."

It was some minutes before either of the occupants of the bathroom were capable of any kind of response.

"MMmmpphh...MMMMPPPHHH!!!... HERE NOW!!" Jack finally managed to extricate himself from the frantic fit of kissing by shoving James near hard enough to send him into the far wall. "What the HELL do you think your doing???!!!!"

"What am_ I_ doing?" James was short of breath, and Jack wasn't too shocked to appreciate the view of his kiss-swollen mouth and wildly mussed hair. "YOU bloody well kissed ME!"

"What the hell would I want to do that for? You were about to arrest me!!! How would kissing you hel—"

"No I wasn't."

"—p me any...what?"

Throughout many histories, there was only one thing that could stop Jack Sparrow dead mid-rant, and it just happened to be the smile gracing that kiss-swollen mouth. Jack shut his own jaw with a snap. And blinked.

James straightened his collar, raked a hand through his hair, cleared his throat, and gestured to the door. "After you, Mr. Sparrow."

Jack looked at the hand, its owner, and the door. "What game are you playing, Mr. James?"

James just smiled.

Jack considered for a moment. "The 'corner-wanted-criminals-in-the-bathroom-kiss-them-senseless-and-let-them-go game, is it?"

James said, "Oh, I'm not letting you go."

"Oh aren't you? What do you call this then?"

"I call it one day's head start."

This time, when their eyes met, Jack felt it from the top of his head to the soles of his feel in one dizzying rush that lifted the hair all over his body. He had no name for it. Was it lust? He didn't think so.

Didn't hurt, whatever it was.

And that was fine.

A day's head start was just _fine_.

"Well, then." He straightened his own coat, not that it did any good, and accepted his briefcase from James with a polite, "Why, thank you."

It took every ounce of wire in him to walk to the door without looking back, and all it too to ruin it was James's mild voice. "Oh, Jack?"

"Eh?" He turned. Eyes met. Oh, what a zinger that was. If he could bottle it, he'd make a fortune.

"I am sorry you went through all that trouble for a fake."

Jack grinned. This was the beginning of a beautiful relationship, he could feel it. "That's quite all right, James." Setting down his briefcase, he dug inside his jacket and came up with a small black velvet pouch. Drew from it, on a thick silver chain, the world's largest black pearl. Blindingly black. Perfect.

Priceless.

"What's really going to bake your noodle is how I got my hands on the real thing."

James stood, mouth open. And damn if he didn't look just as sexy wearing 'flummoxed' as he did 'smug bastard.'

Jack chuckled. "Ta."

* * *

_"Sir??!!"_

"Yes, Groves. I know."

_"Where the hell are you? The whole place is in an uproar. Did you get ahold of him? What happ—"_

"Groves?"

_"Er...yessir?"_

"How good are you at stalling?"

_"Sir?"_

-Owari-


End file.
